


The First Crime

by Durless



Category: El Tigre: The Adventures of Manny Rivera
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Durless/pseuds/Durless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His first crime was being born. His second was continuing to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Crime

**Author's Note:**

> On Jorge Gutierrez's dA, he had a brief backstory for Dr Chipotle Jr buried under pages of comments. It was basically that Chip was made in a lab and he also cloned himself to make Sr and Sr Sr, which is pretty intense. But it's sort of(??) vague about the details, so i wrote this about his creation???  
> anyway, idk if this is considered complete or w/e but i kind of wanted to publish fanfic so here we go

Dr. Chipotle Jr. was created by accident in a lab.

It was quiet in the old laboratory. The past scientist that had worked there had long ago abandoned it along with everything in it. Perhaps he was eaten by one of his own experiments or simply disappeared off the earth one day. No one really knew and very few remembered him, but maybe that was for the better.

Among the broken beakers and flasks and the overturned tables, the only living things in the building were the mold in the air and the vines that had crept in over the long time. 

There was also a boy. He had wild dark hair that stuck out in all directions, having never once seen a brush. He was wounded, hurt, bleeding from a large gash on the side of his leg. The child had only one eye, but it was wide and had a crimson iris full of dirty tears that ran down his pale cheek, although he had no memory of crying. He had no memory of many things. The weak string of memories he did possess seemed to be unable to be knit together to make any sense. He stayed huddled in the corner of the room, his back against the cold wall. He tried to remember.

His earliest memory was a painfully bright flash accompanied by a loud buzzing noise. The next thing was the unending scream, shrill and painful to hear. But as it continued, he came to realize it was his own and he was unable to stop. His throat grew raw and his limbs felt weak. He was unable to move. 

He was in the same humid environment, surrounded by the same mold and musk that he had been in for all five years of his life. 

He stayed in a tight ball, huddled in the corner with his back pressing against the cold wall. The building was abandoned, run down, dilapidated. He spent the majority of his days and nights like that, moving only to retrieve a mysterious soft substance that could be found on the other side of the room. He used it as food.

The other eye of the child was mechanical and glowed red. It functioned almost as a dictionary, targeting and reading objects, giving him the name of things and their function.

From a distance, it appeared a thick, cold, metal coil was wrapped around him like a snake. However, upon further examination, one could see it was his own arm. It matched the robotic eye and was cold to touch.

_“Diego…”_

The young wanted to stay in the safety of that old building. It held good protection, but it was a dull pain in his stomach and a throbbing in his head that made him leave. 

Slowly, he crawled out of his safe place he had been hiding in and crawled slowly towards the light.

It was unknown how long he stayed there. It was probably years. Years, he had survived in that building, but he had no memory. 

He had an off-white sheet-like piece of cloth draped over him with beige stains put there long ago. It dragged behind him as he walked, picking up more dirt. 

As he exited his lair, pulling away some of the vines, he squinted at the sudden bright light. He would have screamed in fear, the sudden shock of having the darkness taken away from him so abruptly, but his throat was still raw. It still hurt from that time so long ago. 

“Diego…” rasped a deep voice, unlike his own. A machine whirred in the background. An overwhelmingly blinding light overtook him, similar to the light that came down upon him now. “Diego…” Then, pain.

Just like then, he braced himself for a familiar pain, but none came. There was only the comparatively light discomfort in his head and gut.

_"Diego, my creation..."_

Who was that? Who spoke those words so long ago? He was scared and lost and he lurked in the shadows because he was afraid of the beings that roamed freely around in the cities. They usually paid him no attention, but the rare times they did, it was a look of scorn. They’d shake their heads and walk on.

And he realized the dark red cartons they’d hold on the streets, full of round objects that people would take. They’d converse for a while and there would be some kind of exchange and the person would walk away with a round object.

Diego didn’t know how to converse and he had nothing to give the people, so he snatched one.

“Thief! Thief! Someone, catch that thief!” The loud shouting made him jump. Fingers were pointed at him. Glares everywhere. A man charged at him and the child ran. He had never run before and it hurt him. It hurt his legs and he felt them stretch and reopen closed wounds. But he kept running in fear of what would happen in case he stopped.

When the voice was completely gone and he was back in the safety of the abandoned building, he bit into the spherical object he had just risked his life for. It was literally the best thing he had ever eaten. Tears ran down his face. 


End file.
